The Threat Of Undermountain
by Winston Chesterfield
Summary: All information about the world of Faerun comes from the Forgotten Realms D&D campaign setting, and I hold no claim to any of the characters who I use from that book. I rated this PG-13 because I'm not sure where it will go, and I'm just being safe
1. A Wandering Mage's Arrival In The City

Neverwinter, Eleasias 12, 1372  
  
"Poor guy, he says he's a mage."  
  
"Any family or friends come for him?"   
  
"No, not as yet, but we're still hoping for someone to claim him. He claims to have some kind of appointment with Lord Alagondar, but the Lord has no idea who he is."  
  
"Have the proper spells and whatnot been placed around his cell?"  
  
"Yes, sir. He doesn't show any tendencies towards violence or anything, and he's kept to himself. Says he's from the Heartlands."  
  
"Keep him under watch and we'll see what Lord Alagondar wants done with him."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
From within his cell, the wizard heard the exchange between the two guardsmen, quietly puffing on his pipe. My detention in this asylum will not go unheard of to the ears Alagondar, he swore quietly to himself and sighed. "Excuse me, my good sirs, I do believe this is entirely unnecessary. I have an appointment with Lord Alagondar, he's just forgotten, as is the way with his type of personality. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me tend to my business, I will not have to report your gross misconduct to your superiors," he said to the two guards.   
  
The two men exchanged glances and the higher ranking of the two said, not without a certain kind of compassion reserved for the insane and foolish, "We're only going to hold you here for a day while we sort all this out, sir, no harm at all." This seemed to satisfy the old man, and he shook his head. "Poor soul," he muttered under his breath before walking out of the cell block.  
  
The old man took another puff on his pipe and leaned back in the small wooden chair in the cell. He was dressed in what appeared to be a night-robe and slippers, with only his pipe for personal effects. He had a snowy white handlebar mustache, tiny spectacles nested on his nose, and was bald on the top of his head with long, perfectly kept hair flowing downwards from the sides and back. He had a cunning look in his eye, but it was more like the cunning of a fox than a snake. On the floor next to him was a huge tome and a ventriloquist's dummy, fashioned in the likeness of a gnome. As he released the smoke from his lungs, he looked down and said, "This is quite a problem we've gotten into, isn't it, Wesley?"  
  
The puppet didn't move.   
  
"You do know, my dear boy, that this could all have been avoided had you just spoken up when the guards arrived," the man said. The puppet remained unmoving.  
  
"Oh come now, it doesn't matter if they hear or see you now that we're stuck in here. The worst thing that can happen is we get some company when the guards complain of a talking puppet!" he said, chuckling at the notion. He took another puff and continued, "Now, look here, we're running late because of these bureaucratic monkeyshines, and I hold you responsible." He glared at the puppet and extinguished his pipe.  
  
Several hours later, the old man looked out the barred window of the asylum and scowled. The sun was setting. "We're dreadfully late for our conference now, and I'm afraid Alagondar won't honor our appointment," he said with a sigh. "No sense in wasting anymore time here." He rolled up his sleeves and cracked his fingers.  
  
Outside, a guard leaned against a wall, waiting out the last few minutes of another uneventful shift. He yawned and looked to the sky. The sun was just about to set, the sky deepening from red and orange to purple and black, stars blinking into existence over the city of Neverwinter. He pushed off the wall and began to make his way to the main guardpost to find his relief.   
  
Suddenly, the wall he had been leaning against only moments before exploded outward with a deafening boom. The force of the blast knocked him down on his face. The bewildered guard scrambled onto his hands and knees and turned to see what had happened.  
  
One of the walls had blown outwards from a cell, and from the dust and rubble clambered an old man, clutching a book in one hand, a puppet in another, and with a pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked about with absolute calm until he noticed the guard. "I say, did I injure you?" he asked. The guard shook his head in disbelief and fear. "Delightful! It would be dreadful if you were hurt, but you aren't so I must be on my way," the man continued. "Now then, Wesley, off to go see Lord Alagondar about that appointment I had. Perhaps this time he'll remember the name Evender Greycastle!"   
  
And with that, he walked calmly away from the asylum and down a short side street. 


	2. An Escape And A Message

Evender strolled along the street until he was well out of sight of the asylum and set the puppet down. "Are you quite alright with where we are now, Wesley?" he asked it as he started stuffing tobacco into his pipe. The puppet stood up and dusted himself of before responding. "The only person that could see me is a bum, so yes, this is good," he said and surveyed the area. "So what now, smart guy?"  
  
"We simply go to Alagondar and deliver the message to him," Evender said as he lit the pipe. He inhaled deeply and blew out a series of smoke rings. "And after that, tea and a warm bed. I believe that's the least we deserve for essentially saving Neverwinter." He chuckled and sat down on a crate. Wesley began to dig in one of the pockets of his tiny tunic, and pulled out an envelope. It was written in a language he couldn't read.  
  
"This the one you mean, chief?" he asked Evender, offering it to him. Evender took the envelope and nodded a confirmation before putting it safely into one of his pockets. "Yeah, it was a good idea you gave it to me," Wesley said sarcastically, "or else those guards would have found it and taken us right to Alagondar and saved us hours inside of an asylum."   
  
Evender rolled his eyes and stood up. "Regardless, we've spent enough time sitting in an alley. Let's be off then," he replied with a slight note of irritation. "You do realize that we're going out into public, and as such, you might want to change your appearance." He handed the puppet a wide-brimmed dark blue hat with a lighter feather in it and waited as Wesley grumbled and tugged it onto his head. Instantly, the wood-and-paint puppet gnome's body changed to that of a real gnome. He scratched his head and grumbled, "Would it have killed you to get one of these that wasn't so ugly looking? This makes me look like some kind of pirate."   
  
They began to walk, Evender smoking and admiring the city, Wesley grumbling and kicking stones. After a short while, Evender gestured towards a large keep and said triumphantly, "Ah, there we are, Wesley! Lord Alagondar's palace! Step lively now, we're almost there!"   
  
Lord Nasher Alagondar rubbed his temples and groaned. There was always something wrong in the city of Neverwinter, and he was the man that had to deal with it. Today alone there was a duel between two mages in the middle of the marketplace over spell components of all things, some crazed old man had claimed to have an appointment with him, and a new cult of doomsayers had appeared and panicked the lower classes of the city into a small scale riot. The day previous there had been reports of Klauth, the hellish wyrm terror of the North, moving slowly closer to Neverwinter, and the day before that there was a rumor that Drizzt Do'Urden had arrived in the city again, and that always meant trouble. He looked longingly at a glass of wine and put quill to paper before he could neglect his work.  
  
Before he had written more than a sentence, there was a loud commotion outside of his chamber. "Oh ye gods," he muttered and stood up. He stormed to the opening of the chamber and slammed the massive oaken doors open.  
  
Alagondar was prepared to deal with drunken guards. He was prepared for an assassin. But he was not prepared for an old man standing in a circle of his guards, swinging a gnome by the arm like a flail. "Get back!" the old man shouted. "Get back before you are smote so mightily, your parents will feel it!" He was dressed in a robe and slippers with a mustache and white hair.   
  
"What in the nine hells is going on out here?" he roared.   
  
The old man looked at him and his face lit up. "Ah, my Lord Alagondar! I am Evender Greycastle, I have an appointment with you, I believe, and I have an important message for you," he said, bowing. He quickly stood up again as the guards took a step forward to apprehend him. He held the gnome by his arm and raised him again. "Now, if you please, call off your guards so that we may conduct business."  
  
Alagondar sighed and asked one of the men, "Wasn't this man taken to an asylum earlier today?"  
  
"Yes, my Lord, he was, but he escaped."  
  
The Lord of Neverwinter gestured to Evender, motioning for him to come into the chamber. Evender stood up very tall and let the gnome down, who grumbled to himself and tugged a dark blue hat tighter onto his head. The two followed Alagondar, who closed the door behind them. He turned slowly around to face them and said just as slowly, "What is this message you have for me?"  
  
Evender snapped to military attention and called out, "Wesley! Present. Letter!" The gnome dug in his tunic for a moment and walked over to Alagondar. He thrust it towards him muttering something profane and stalked back to beside Evender. He kept muttering to himself and fixed his hat again.   
  
Evender announced like a bailiff in court, "It is a message from the mighty Elminster himself regarding one Halastair Blackcloak, my Lord!" He watched as Alagondar's already exhausted face turned even more so and took on an ashen grey color. Alagondar lowered the letter, his hands shaking. He took a few shaky steps towards Evender and Wesley and collapsed as his vision tunneled and he fainted. 


End file.
